


Coming Clean

by gin_and_ashes



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-16
Updated: 2011-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:45:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin_and_ashes/pseuds/gin_and_ashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose gets a much-needed bath (with the Doctor's help), and her thoughts run away with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Clean

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The Doctor/Rose Fix Summer '11 Fixathon.
> 
> Thanks as always to jlrpuck for being a tremendous beta.  
> 

For what had to be the fifth time in as many minutes, Rose wiped the sweat from her brow with her forearm. The evening heat settled on the planet Cwr like a fiery blanket, and it didn't help that she'd spent the last several hours with the locals, harvesting the local equivalent of flax—by hand, the way everything was done on this backwards husk of a planet.

Sighing, she reproached herself. It wasn't fair to blame the planet or its people for the lack of anything more than basic machines; the Doctor had explained that the inhabitants had chosen this life. According to him, the Cwrians believed hard work and deprivation brought them together, kept them equal, and removed the envy and strife that had led to years of internecine warfare. And they did seem happy, or at least content.

But she and the Doctor had been here for two weeks while the Doctor tried to help them find out what had been attacking and killing their livestock. Two weeks spent working almost non-stop from dawn until dusk—tending crops, caring for ill and injured animals, and helping with the other chores, all in the hope that one of the Cwrians would let slip some small tidbit of information that would lead them to the culprit. Rose was so tired, sore, and filthy that the sponge bath and hay-stuffed mattress that awaited her back at the house she and the Doctor were sharing (when he was there, which wasn't often) seemed like an impossible luxury.

The sun was just beginning to sink below the horizon as she trudged through the front door. There was no trace of the Doctor, though this didn't surprise her. He'd probably be up all night guarding what few animals remained, trying to catch the killer red-handed. And that was fine; she hadn't been truly alone in days. Maybe, Rose thought, she'd even be able to boil some water on the hearth for a hot sponge bath, rather than the ice-cold water she usually drew from the well in the back yard. Cool water was nice after a long day in the sun, but she never felt truly _clean_ afterwards. Of course she'd have to haul the water in from the well herself, since the Doctor wasn't around, but things could be worse.

She headed to the hearth. The Doctor (or someone) had thoughtfully banked the fire; with a few pokes, she had it going merrily again. The room might be over-hot now, but the evening chill was approaching—and the fire was also the only source of light in the room, save a sad candle stub or two. A heavy iron cauldron sat next to the fireplace; Rose pulled it out and gave it a tentative lift, the dropped it with a clang onto the hearthstones. It was far too heavy as it was; filled with water, it would be impossible to carry. Annoyed, she huffed. It would take a bucket and make at least two trips to the communal well to fill the cauldron.

"Rose?" the Doctor called from upstairs. "You back?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Got to go out again, though, for water. For my 'bath.' " She laced the last word with sarcasm. It wasn't the Doctor's fault she hadn't had a shower in two weeks. Except that it was, kind of. Maybe, she thought, she could guilt him into getting the water for her.

"Come up here first," he called down. "I need to show you something."

Her shoulders slumped. He wanted her to go all the way upstairs? For what? Knowing him, he'd probably found some sort of alien bug or rodent or something. And while she was under no illusions that her hay mattress was hypoallergenic, she preferred not to have any proof of what might be living in it.

"Do I have to?" she whined.

"Yes, you have to. And hurry it up, would you? I don't have all night."

Pulling a face, Rose dragged herself up the stairs to the bedroom, fully expecting to be greeted by something either horrific or, more likely, utterly inconsequential. What she found instead stopped her dead in her tracks. There, in the centre of the room, was an enormous wooden tub; it looked like the Doctor had taken one of the largest barrels in the village and sliced it in half. Next to it stood the Doctor, who managed to look both smug and yet somehow expectant, waiting for Rose to say something, to be amazed. Confused, she took another look at the tub and saw that it was _steaming_.

"A bath? Of my own?" Rose grinned in delighted wonder.

"Of your very own. No jumping in the river with who knows what, no sticking your head under the pump, no sponge bathing—" Did he shudder then, or did she imagine it? "None of that nonsense. It's not much, I'm afraid, but it's clean, it's hot, and it's all yours."

"Don't tell me you lugged boiling water up the stairs."

"Lugged water, yes. Boiling, no." He held up the sonic screwdriver. "Setting 6104-Q. Boils water instantly. Also purifies it. Cleaner than a mountain spring, this."

"Yeah, no alien bears around to use it as a loo," Rose said with a cheeky grin. "Really, though, thank you. I didn't really want to complain about not having a proper wash, but…"

"...we're not usually stuck in one place for this long. I know. I'm sorry." His face fell.

"I didn't mean it like that," she insisted. "I didn't." Biting her lip, she took a tentative step forward, taking his hands in hers. "It's okay; we can't leave before sorting all this, could we?"

Their eyes locked. The tenderness in his expression made her pulse race; her voice caught in her throat. "That's not who we are," she whispered.

"No. It's not."

The Doctor freed one hand, reached up and tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, then gently cupped her jaw, his fingers barely touching her skin. He looked for all the world like he wanted to kiss her, his eyes dark and yet still dancing. It was impossible for her to look away. They said nothing, just stared at each other for several long seconds. His thumb caressed the apple of her cheek, and his lips curved into the smallest of smiles.

Had he ever looked at her like this before, with such intensity? Rose couldn't recall—but then at the moment, she could barely remember her own name, so mesmerised was she. Her breaths began to quicken. The restrictions of her bodice, always an annoyance, became almost strangling. In the back of her mind she chastised herself for devolving into a Mills and Boon heroine, heaving bosom and all. But what chance did she have, when the Doctor was looking at her—at her _lips_ —like that? He was going to kiss her. She was certain of it, was readying herself for it, until he dropped his hand and stepped away.

"Right." He shoved his hand into his jacket pocket and scowled. Rose held tighter with her other hand, refusing to let him leave so quickly. "Best get to it, before the water gets cold. Don't want to hear you moaning about it being like ice."

The Doctor tried to pull away, but Rose tugged him back to her. "Rose," he pled, confused. "I can't be...y'know, in here when you do this."

"Well, yeah," she said, giving him her best "Duh" expression. "Obviously. Just wanted to thank you, that's all."

"You did thank me."

"I know. Wanted to thank you again. So..." Before she could lose her nerve, she rose up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you."

He fixed her with that same gaze, focusing on her with an intensity that made her heart race like a rabbit's and almost made her forget what she was about. If he didn't move soon, she couldn't be held responsible for her actions.

"All right, you," she said, her voice shaking. "Get out of here so I can get rid of some of this grot." She shoved him towards the screen that divided the room. "And don't expect me down for a while, either. I intend to enjoy this."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, but he was smiling as he left.

When Rose was sure the Doctor was gone, she began to undress. She'd switched to the homespun the locals wore after one day of sweltering in the fields in her hoodie and jeans. Long skirts in summer seemed antithetical to keeping cool, but they turned out to be delightfully breezy.

Her bodice came off first. Freed at last from its confines, she took several deep, relieved breaths. They did wonders for the figure, these things, but they made it hard for any oxygen to get into her blood. Next she unlaced and removed her skirts, draping them and her bodice over a nearby chair. Her boots came next, and she flexed her feet and wriggled her toes in anticipation of the wonders a hot soak would do for her sore muscles—she quite literally ached from her neck down to the tips of her toes.

Last came her chemise, which Rose regarded with a critical eye. It was dirty, smelly and stained, and would need to be washed. There was another, she knew, in a trunk at the foot of her bed. She wondered if she should dash out now and get it, or wait until after her bath. It made more sense, she supposed, to retrieve it now, rather than when she would be wet and chilled, but the bath was calling, and she didn't want to risk letting it get too cold before she had a chance to really wash. Later it was, then. She balled the gown up and tossed it over the dividing screen.

"Oi!" A familiar, indignant voice cried. "Why are you throwing your laundry at me?"

Rose froze, one foot almost over the edge of the tub. "You still here?" she asked, as casually as she could manage.

"I was gone, now I'm back. Had something I needed to tell you, but then you pelted me with your underthings."

"Okay, so tell me."

"Well, I've forgotten now. I'm too stunned by the attack—completely uncalled for, I might add—of your frilly bits."

"If you'd stayed below stairs and given me a bit of privacy, that wouldn't have happened," she shot back. "So go on and let me bathe in peace, why don't you?"

The Doctor heaved a dramatic sigh. "You want me to go back down? I'll just remember as soon as I get to the bottom of the stairs, and then I'll come right back up and tell you—unless you have something else you're planning on assailing me with."

"Unfortunately, no," Rose sighed. "I'm all out of rotten fruit." There was an uncomfortably silent pause. "You're really gonna stay, aren't you?"

"Well, there's no point in me—"

"Oh, fine, then, but make yourself useful. Get me a clean chemise out of the trunk, would you? Just...drape it over the screen or something. And _no peeking_. I mean it."

"What kind of a man do you think I am?"

"You _really_ don't want me answering that," Rose muttered to herself as she climbed into the tub.

"I can hear you, you know," the Doctor said, sounding terribly put-upon.

"Good!" she rejoined, and sank below the surface of the water, effectively ending that conversation.

The water was perfect—just this side of too hot—and just getting wet all over at once was a welcome relief. The Doctor, bless him, had gone so far as to line the rough wooden interior of the tub with linen cloths, so she wouldn't have to worry about splinters as she soaked. She smiled, then dunked herself again, raking her fingers through her hair and scrubbing at her scalp to loosen the dirt there. With a splash, she rose above the surface of the water, then leaned against one end and simply relaxed, sighing in pleasure and enjoying the feel of the hot water on her skin.

It was necessary for her to bunch up a bit to keep all her limbs in the water, the tub being a bit small for her body, but it was worth it. Days of grime, dirt, stale beer, and other things she didn't want to think too hard about began to fade away. If only she had some shampoo, she thought, everything would be perfect.

"Doctor?" she asked, tentatively. "You still there?"

"Yeah." The reply was typically brusque.

"I don't suppose you've any soap, or anything like that, eh?"

"Table. Next to the tub."

"What?" Water sloshed over the edge of the tub as she sat up. Even though the air held a hint of the afternoon warmth, it chilled the water on her skin. Her flesh began to goosepimple. "Oh, there it is. Ta."

"Yeah."

Rose took the cake of soap—again deciding not to think too hard, this time about what it was made of—and washed herself, starting with her legs. She raised one leg from the water and ran the soap over it from foot almost to hip and back again, then lathered up and rinsed, repeating the action on the same side and wishing she'd thought to ask for a razor.

"So," she said, thinking that she might as well talk to the Doctor if he was going to stay there, "Did you remember what you had to tell me that was so important?" She washed her torso, arms, neck, and face, soaping up her skin and dipping back down under the water to rinse, then rubbed the bar of soap on her head to lather up her hair, scrubbing her scalp vigourously as she waited for him to reply.

"Um...yeah," he said, though he didn't sound much like himself. After a few seconds, he continued. "I think I know what's been killing the animals."

"Oh yeah? Hold on, gotta rinse my hair." Again she ducked under the water, using her fingers to finish loosening the dirt and soap from her hair. She rose once more, took a deep breath, then sunk back down again for a final rinse. When she surfaced, she heard the Doctor, his voice impatient:

"Do I get your attention now?"

Rose sighed, and flicked water in the direction of the screen. "Go on, then. You've obviously made some amazing discovery. Tell me what it is so I can be appropriately impressed."

"Well, here's the thing—"

"Awww." Rose pouted.

"What's wrong _now_?"

"Water's going cold, and I've only just got started."

"Doesn't matter where we are, you take forever to get clean, you know that?"

"Yeah, and whose fault is it that I got interrupted in the middle of my first real bath in weeks?"

"Moan, moan, moan. All right, cover yourself."

"What?"

"Cover. Yourself. I need to come around the screen to do this, because if I miss—well, it won't be pretty. Just cover up with something, please."

Rose looked around the tub; the towel was out of her reach, and she didn't want to get it wet in any case. On the table where the soap had been, there was a small—tiny, really—folded piece of linen, meant, she suspected, for use as a washcloth. Even unfolded it was barely enough to cover her breasts, but it would have to do. She sank as low in the water as she could manage, then draped the thin linen over her. The dampness on her chest made it stick and conform to the curves of her body. It was a covering in only the most basic sense, but she supposed it was better than the Doctor seeing her nude.

"All right, come on back," she called.

The Doctor edged his way around the screen, stopping short and gawping when he saw her.

"Thought I told you to cover up," he said, his voice rough and strangely quiet.

"I did!"

"Rose, that's hardly...oh, never mind." He raised the sonic screwdriver, pointed it at the tub, and averted his eyes.

"You gonna boil this with me in here?" Panicked, Rose made to leap out of the bath, the washcloth slipping and nearly exposing a breast.

"Don't get out!" the Doctor cried, turning his face away and covering it with his free arm. "I'm not gonna boil the water, just...reheat it a bit. You'll be safe if you stay in there, honestly, so please: _stay in there_."

His voice had an edge of desperation to it. Though she remained dubious, Rose sank back into the water, adjusting the washcloth so she was covered again.

"Okay then."

"Right." The Doctor aimed the sonic screwdriver at the tub; suddenly, the bath water was hot again. Rose squealed and splashed happily as the steam rose around her.

"Oh, that's brilliant! Cheers for that."

The Doctor nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground. "Yeah. I'm just gonna...I'm gonna go back below stairs. If you need anything, just yell, all right? Right. Okay." He paused. "Bye then." He was gone before she could open her mouth to respond.

Rose leaned against the back of the tub and straightened her legs, enjoying the renewed heat of the bath, and pondering the Doctor's reaction. He was so confusing, that man. It wasn't as though he hadn't seen her in various states of undress—he'd barged into her room on the TARDIS on more than one occasion, often when a towel was the only thing protecting her modesty, and had never so much as blinked. But the way he'd acted just now, and the look he'd given her before…with any other man, a look like that could only mean that she was about to be kissed, and thoroughly. But with the Doctor? Who knew?

Frustrated, she sat up, bunched up the washcloth and dipped it in the water, then rubbed soap on it and began scrubbing her chest—might as well get as clean as possible while she had the opportunity. The sun had finally gone; the night air in the room felt chilly on her skin, compared to the heat of the water, and she felt her nipples tighten in response. She looked down at herself, saw the hardened peaks standing out from her body, and, unable to resist, dipped a finger into the warm water, then ran it around her right nipple.

Rose gasped, then bit her lip at the sensation, repeating the action on the other side. Her head dropped back, thunking against the rim of the wooden tub. Eyes closed, she reclined against the tub wall, wetting her finger again, then circling her nipple, flicking the taut peak back and forth before pinching it tightly between her thumb and forefinger. A small moan escaped her lips, and her hips began to undulate under the surface of the water. It had been so long since she'd been alone...now would be the perfect time.

Suddenly she stopped. Her eyes flew open and she stilled. The Doctor...where was he? He'd said he was going downstairs, but knowing him, he could be back at any moment. Did she dare? Could she go any longer without some sort of relief? The man had been driving her spare over the last few days—always right at her side when they were together, always touching her in some way.

The way his body looked, on those days he'd donned the local garb and helped in the fields—she'd suspected, under all that leather and wool, that he was fit, but she hadn't expected him to be so _magnificent_. He was strong and lean, but not wiry, and without the jacket to hide under, his movements were even more obviously fluid and graceful. The elegance of his hands, she now knew, extended to his arms and chest and almost certainly to his legs, though (much to her dismay) she hadn't seen those. And those hands, oh those hands...there was no point in denying it; she wanted to be touched—intimately—by the Doctor's hands.

But since that wasn't going to happen, her own would have to do for now. Another chance might not come along, certainly not any time soon. Rose closed her eyes again and relaxed. She tried to picture the Doctor standing by the screen as he had been before. Only this time, he didn't turn away. This time, when he saw her in the tub, he walked to her, bending over to kiss her, long and slow. Rose sighed, imagining opening her mouth against his, sliding her tongue along his own as he cupped her face in one hand, kissing her thoroughly, nipping at her bottom lip, maybe, or trailing kisses along her jaw.

She took the soap, imagining that it was him, that he'd joined her in the tub, that his hands traced the curves of her body as he bathed her. Her palms became his, ghosting over her swelling breasts, her short fingers his long ones—flicking over her nipples, rolling and pinching them and making her writhe as the pleasure mounted. Desire swelled at her core; she was desperate to touch herself, to bring her aching body to a quick release. But the Doctor of her fantasies would want to draw it out, to tease her, to make her want him more, the bastard. So she refrained, instead cupping her breasts in both hands, kneading the flesh and ghosting the lightest of touches over her nipples, the way she dreamt he would.

It was quickly growing to be too much, though. Soon she'd draped a leg over the side of the tub, opening herself to her imagined Doctor, dragging one hand down over her belly and through her curls to her centre while the other continued to caress her breast. She was wet—a very different kind of wetness, now—and she let her fingers dance over her clit before pressing two of them inside her, imagining—wishing—they were his. She thrust them in as far as she could, then drew them out, repeating the motion a few times, squeezing against her own hand, wanting to believe it was the Doctor's fingers that pleasured her, that he was watching, his blue eyes darkening with want at just how much she desired him, what his touch did to her.

When she could wait no longer, Rose drew the tip of one finger lightly over her centre, shuddering and thrusting her hips up into her own hand. With her other, she pinched her nipple roughly, imagining she could hear the Doctor hiss when she arched her back into what should be his hands. She brought a second finger to join the first, touching herself, her clit hard, almost throbbing against her hand as her fingers swirled in tight circles over it. Behind her closed eyelids, she could see the Doctor holding her, stroking her; could feel his lips trace along the curve of her neck; could hear him, his voice rough, encouraging her to come, to lose control for him. Her orgasm began to build almost at once, her breaths growing shorter. Close...she was so close...nearly there...

"Rose!" the Doctor's voice called from downstairs. "You done yet?"

"Almost," she replied without thinking, her voice a strangled cry. Hearing him actually speak, even impatiently, only brought her fantasy into sharper focus. The wave built, was almost about to crest…

"Rose? You all right?"

"Yes!" she shouted as her world exploded. Her hips shot upwards; her body convulsed. Shock waves of pleasure coursed through her body one after another until she sank, sated, back under the now-lukewarm water. She giggled quietly, still softly stroking her clit, enjoying the aftershocks as they passed through her, savouring the feeling of the water as it lapped at her still-sensitive nipples.

Only the rapid cooling of the bath water induced her to move; she stretched, letting out a delighted squeal, then climbed from the tub, drying herself with a towel before wrapping a second around her body. She located the clean chemise the Doctor had found her and put it on, draping her wet towels over the screen to dry, then put on her skirts and boots. Last, and with some regret, she pulled on her bodice, lacing it up as she wandered down the stairs to find the Doctor.

"There you are," he said, perturbed. "Thought you'd never come down."

Rose said nothing, just squeezed the last droplets of water from her damp hair and combed through it with her fingers.

"You all right?" he asked. "I thought I heard…"

"Hmm?" Her eyes met his; he flushed and looked down, to the side, anywhere but at her.

"Nothing, never mind."

He was...flustered. The Doctor, her Doctor, who'd stared murderers down without flinching, was _flustered_. Did he know what she'd done? The thought terrified her—and thrilled her a little. If the thought of her, like that, did this to him…

"Everything go okay up there?" he asked. Rose stretched languidly, noting how he fought to keep his eyes on hers. Things were going to get very interesting when they got back to the TARDIS.

With a smile just this side of wicked, she answered him.

"Fantastic."


End file.
